


Mormor Prompts

by Iolre



Series: The Minor Key Prompts [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: About as fluffy as they get, Blood, Bondage, Choking, Disregard for human feelings, Dysphoria, Fluff, Genderfluid, Hurt/Comfort, Knives, M/M, Sociopath!Jim, Submissive!Seb, holiday fic, injuries, mormor, prompts, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Mormor drabbles I've written and posted to my prompts tumblr. Various situations, from fluff to smut to anything I'm prompted with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Otherwise Well Done

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all.
> 
> This is going to be a compilation of the Mormor prompts given to me at my [prompts tumblr](http://minorsherlockprompts.tumblr.com) where I take prompts for minor pairings. Feel free to shoot me one if you want to see more Mormor (or any other 'rare' pairing)!

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair and grimaced when it came away bloody. That last bullet had grazed his head, then. A sloppy job, but otherwise well done. He hadn’t expected his target to come with two bodyguards instead of one and he had paid for his inability to think ahead. Jim was going to be furious.

Dismantling his rifle, he placed it gently into its case and stored it in the locked cabinet that served him as a hiding spot. It was a warehouse owned by one of Moriarty’s various cover companies. Not that anyone would know that, not without tracing through a series of documents that would eventually lead those who were not part of the network into oblivion. All that was left was to travel back to their flat and face Jim.

As was their standard routine, he had texted Jim to let him know that the kill had been clean. He had left out, however, that he had been injured. With his luck he would need stitches, and an angry Jim meant painful stitches. He stopped at a safe house on the jaunt home, ducking out of sight to clean the blood out of his hair and put a thick stack of gauze over the jagged wound. Definitely stitches, but a hat and the gauze would conceal it well enough to make it home.

“Idiot,” Jim seethed the moment he saw him. Reaching up, the smaller man yanked off the hat and then the patch of gauze. Although Seb knew better than to be amused by the way Jim had to lift up on his toes to rip something off of his head, he couldn’t help the faintest quirk of his lips. Of course Jim saw it, and narrowed his eyes, a scowl tarring his normally handsome face. “Bathroom,” he ordered. “Strip. Stick your clothes in the biohazard bag. We’ll burn them later.”

“It’s just a bit of blood, Boss,” Seb protested, although he was already on his way to the bathroom. Jim ignored him, which was never a good sign. Entering the bathroom, Seb stripped off his clothes and carefully placed them into the bag that was designated for anything with blood on it. Every so often it would vanish when one of Jim’s other henchmen came and collected it to be burned. Seb personally thought it was a waste of good clothes, considering the majority burned were his, but Jim did enjoy clothing Seb in a variety of new garments. Sometimes Seb thought that Jim got him bloody on purpose. One never knew with him.

The door opened and Jim bustled in, dressed in his pants. The man was fussy about germs and about his suits, and as meticulous as a person could be about contamination of wounds. He scrubbed his hands carefully before opening the medical kit they kept on the counter. Seb was perched on the edge of the porcelain tub, legs spread and head slightly bowed. Blood was congealing in his hair and he grimaced at the sticky feeling.

Jim’s gloved hands were on his head, fingertips digging into his skull as he turned Seb’s head this way and that, assessing the damage done. “You were shot,” he said accusingly.

“Two bodyguards,” Seb muttered half-heartedly. Jim made an irritated noise. “He’s never brought more than one!” the hit man said defensively. He gritted his teeth as rough fingers pressed the edges of the wound together and he felt the first bite of the needle in his flesh. Jim was really angry if he hadn’t even given Seb some paracetamol. One time Jim had told him that he felt that Seb learned his lesson better when he felt all the pain.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Jim said in his high-pitched, sing-song voice, drawing out Seb’s full name. Another poke. “When will you learn to stop being so stupid?” The last two words were a half-shout, and Seb had to fight not to flinch as the needle dug into the skin and Jim continued sewing. The pain was there, but it wasn’t the worst he had ever felt. It was just generally unpleasant to have Jim angry with him.

It was another few minutes before Jim’s deft hands were done tying off the suture material and he felt saline being poured directly on the sutured cut. His fingers were oddly careful as they carefully cleaned the blood out of Seb’s hair. Probably because Jim didn’t want to have to sew him back up. Seb sat quietly as Jim stomped back to the counter, shedding his gloves and shoving them into the same bag with the clothes to be burned.

He closed his eyes for a brief second and opened them as a hand smacked ointment into his chest. “Use this on it, once a day,” Jim said, sounding bored. He leaned down as if inspecting his handiwork, and Seb felt the briefest touch of lips against the crown of his head, just to the side of his stitches. “Take a shower. You smell.” Pulling back, Jim crinkled his nose as he scowled at his second in command.

Turning around, he sauntered out of the bathroom. “Oh, and Sebby? If you’re stupid again, I’ll kill you.” He flashed a wide smile at Seb and then was gone. Resigned, Seb sat the ointment on the counter and turned on the water.


	2. Pushing Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebby is Jim's, in all ways. Jim's favourite thing to do is to push Sebby's limits.
> 
> **Trigger warnings for this prompt: Blood, knives, choking, bondage, no aftercare, Master/slave, threats. Sociopath!Jim, submissive!Seb.**

There was nothing better, in Jim’s opinion, than pushing Sebby’s limits. Stripping him naked, binding him, cutting him until all he could do was lay there, limp, hanging at the border of life and death. It sent adrenaline pulsing through Jim’s veins, coupled with a dark lust that not even the most savage human could understand. He had control of everything. Of dead or alive, of pleasure and pain. He knew Sebby better than anyone could ever claim, knew what made him moan and what made him whimper. Proud ex-army sniper, death to those who crossed him, reduced to a moaning, incoherent, bleeding mess.

Jim loved it.

He prowled around his Sebby, bound by his wrists and ankles to a cross. The sniper was already bleeding from several places, although the cuts weren’t particularly deep. They only had a few days before their next job, so Jim couldn’t make him bleed that badly without severely risking his own health. But Jim was going to do it anyway. Because he could. “You’re so pretty like this,” he told Sebby reverently, the hand without the sharp knife tracing Seb’s face, down to his naked chest before grabbing his nipple and twisting it, evoking a sharp moan.

Jim groaned as his Sebby writhed. It was such a heady feeling, the control. The knife came up and he cut a slash across his bicep, where the muscle was. Not deep enough to cut the muscle (inconvenient - Seb wouldn’t be able to protect him, and that was a bother), but deep enough so that Sebby would remember it every time he used his arm until he healed. The thought of his Sebby stoically bearing the pain, feeling it every time he moved his arm, sent faint shivers of pleasure simmering through Jim’s body.

Another cut to Seb’s other bicep. He did so like things to be symmetrical, after all. There was order in insanity, and he was quite fond of that. Leaning down, he licked the messily bleeding cuts, delighting in the copper tang of the warm liquid, how Sebby shivered underneath him as his rough tongue scraped the sensitive skin. He bit at his flesh, white teeth against tanned skin until his lips were covered in blood and Sebby was keening under him, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his cock lying thick against his belly. Jim ignored it, he always did. If Sebby wanted to (and at this Jim mentally wrinkled his nose) come, he would have to do it himself.

And considering the fact he was quite nicely chained up, it rarely came easy.

Bored of the cross, Jim unhooked the chains that connected Sebby’s handcuffs to it and led him to the bed, tossing him onto it (as well as he could toss the six-foot tall man) and re-hooking the handcuffs to the small eyelets on the side of the bed..Seb was quiet, docile, and Jim rearranged him easily. He straddled him, having already long-dressed for the occasion. Blood would stain his trousers, of course, but they were disposable, meant to be worn in this kind of situation and never seen again.

Leaning down, Jim inspected Sebby’s face for a few moments, checking his coherency level. Not that he particularly cared, but it took so much work to train a new toy and he did so enjoy this one. Pleased with what he saw, he pressed both hands around Seb’s throat. The taller man struggled against the bonds, against Jim’s unrelenting hands, panic slowly turning into blissed arousal as the oxygen deprivation started to seep in.

Shifting so that one hand continued the work of two, Jim whispered directly into Seb’s ear, his voice high pitched and sing-song. “Sebby, if you make a mess of the Andretti case, like you did the last one…” Jim tsked and shook his head, his blood sizzling with the way that his Sebby fought to keep focused on him, despite what were probably blotches in his vision. “If you mess up, I will cut you.” The shorter man trailed a finger down Seb’s chest, an autopsy line, reflecting the faint scars from previous play time. “I will burn you. I will cut the heart, right out of you.” Jim bit messily at Seb’s nipple, teeth harsh rather than playful, at the same time he released his hold on Sebby’s throat.

Jim was quick to get off; as soon as his hand released its grip his legs were moving, and Sebby was coming, semen spurting up onto his chest. Jim wrinkled his nose in disgust. What a mess. As the sniper lay there panting, Jim watched and waited for Sebby to focus on him. It took a few moments (but thankfully for Seb, no finger snaps), but finally the eyes latched onto him. “You clean this up,” Jim told him, a wide smile on his face, “and I won’t kill you.”

“Yes, Master,” Sebastian mustered after a few seconds had passed. Leaning over, Jim carefully pressed his hand to Seb’s throat, a last, final warning, before he turned and strode off, leaving Seb chained to the bed by himself, as usual.

And Sebastian wouldn’t have it any other way.


	3. Something Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Teen!lock Mormor please! Seb is a gang leader whose peons think it's a good idea to pick on the seemingly-nerdy Jim Moriarty. Doesn't go so well. Maybe a few people die. But that's okay, because Seb finds it oddly arousing.

Seb watched from roof of the two-story building, arms crossed over the edge. Apparently his boys’ victim today was a easy one. So easy that Seb nearly felt sorry for him. Quiet, shy Jim Moriarty was about to be mugged. Not that it was going to be hard, not with how thin and small he was. Plus with what he wore - quiet but expensive - Seb knew he had money. Not that he had encouraged the attack - he didn’t really care what his gang mates did, during their off time. It was generally a good idea to keep track of them, however.

The three men loitered by the end of the alley, just waiting. Seb took a long pull of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke steadily into the air. Then he saw him. Jim headed down the alleyway, nonchalant as could be, even after he caught sight of Seb’s peons. The kid was either brave, or stupid. Seb doubted the latter. Himself, he cared less about academics, but Jim was smart and meticulous, even though he didn’t always care to show it.

The tallest of the gang members made the first move, and the other two followed, caging Jim in. Seb watched intently. Something just wasn’t feeling right. Jim wasn’t afraid, wasn’t showing any signs of fear. Seb knew he wasn’t stupid. When the knife appeared in Jim’s hand, Seb narrowed his eyes. Surely Jim didn’t think he could take on all three men with just a knife. They were all at least a head taller than he was, and far more muscled.

Seb watched, astonished, as Jim took down the three men. He was graceful, leaping and twisting and cutting, and savage, nearly drenched in blood by the time he had finished. Seb dropped his cigarette over the side of the building, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. Not that he had cared much about the men - they were his mates, sure, but not his friends. He closed his mouth, watching Jim with a lot more caution than he ever had before.

Then Jim looked up at him, with the most wicked smile Seb had ever seen. He lifted a hand and crooked a finger, beckoning. Seb narrowed his eyes, but nodded once, sharply. He turned and walked towards the door that lead inside, down the stairs and outside the building, checking to make sure he had his two knives where he could access them if he needed them. Stepping outside, he saw tiny Jim dragging the men’s bodies behind the nearby dumpster.

“That won’t conceal them for long,” Seb said, grabbing the last one and dragging him behind. He felt like he should feel something, that they died, but instead it was more of a mild irritation. It was messy, and sunny, and getting blood on him in that sort of weather was going to be disgustingly uncomfortable in less than an hour.

“Long enough,” Jim answered with a shrug. The knife had disappeared - pocketed, Seb guessed. Although where Jim hid it in those pants, he wasn’t really sure.

Finally they were finished, and Seb stood, aware that Jim was watching him from just a few feet away. It was an odd sort of feeling, the electricity that seemed to be crackling through his veins at the way Jim licked his lips, flicked out the knife, and stalked forward like a panther, all lithe danger and fierce, predatory intent. Seb swallowed, his throat suddenly too dry, as Jim backed him up against a wall. It should not have been possible - Jim was a head shorter, and weaker. But it happened. Still, he refused to show fear. He stared back, eyes narrowed, fighting while not fighting. Seb was all too aware of who held the power in their situation.

“You’re not afraid.” Jim’s voice was high-pitched, almost delighted, childish in its intonation. But at the same time, there was the lethal undercurrents, marked by the way the knife slid up Seb’s body, until it rested against his jugular. “I could kill you, right now. Easier than I killed the others. All it just takes is one little cut.” Jim slid the knife across Seb’s neck, feather light, not even cutting the skin. Seb swallowed again, feeling like all the blood that had been allowing his brain to function had deserted for his groin. He was aching, harder than he had ever been. Was it the danger? The fear? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wanted more.

“Do it,” Seb spat out. Jim grinned, and lifted himself up on his toes, pressing a kiss to Seb’s lips. Seb tasted blood.

“I don’t think so.” The knife was folded and then disappeared, back to wherever Jim stored it in those too-tight jeans. “I think I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.”

“Look, I’m not your fucking toy -” Seb stopped when Jim’s eyes narrowed, all fun and smiles gone. It wasn’t the shy, nerdy Jim that was in charge. This Jim was deadly. The one that had killed three members of his gang without losing his breath.

“I’m going to take you home, and make you shower. And then that’s exactly what you’ll be. My little toy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jim’s hand snaked down and cupped Seb’s groin, raising an eyebrow, challenging.

Seb opened his mouth and then closed it, unable to think of anything actually intelligent to say. “Yes.”

“Good.” Jim grabbed his hand and dragged him off without another word.


	4. A Winter Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt: Okay you asked for other ships so omg Mormor they're like my OTP maybe something nice and holiday oriented? Seb and Jim sharing hot cocoa and snowball fights or maybe Thanksgiving in the Moriarty household?

A sleepy arm wrapped itself around Seb’s waist, and the smaller man curled closer to the larger. Seb chuckled, shifting to accommodate Jim’s attempts at burrowing closer. “Good morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the consulting criminal’s soft hair.

“Shut up,” Jim muttered petulantly, pressing his face into dark, warm crook of Seb’s neck. “Let me sleep or I’ll kill you.”

Seb bit back a chuckle and stayed silent, drifting in and out of sleep as Jim laid half on top of him. The smaller man was light, not a bother, and his warmth kept Seb cool, even in the frigid room. It was another half hour or so before Jim stirred, although he didn’t move far, just nipped at Seb’s neck. “Get up and fix the heat,” he ordered, his words muffled by Seb’s neck. “And make me hot cocoa.”

“I can’t move with you on me,” Seb pointed out reasonably.

“Seven marshmallows, or you know the consequences.” Jim bit him again, playful this time, and then slid off of Seb, curling into his warm spot underneath the duvet once Seb moved. Seb resisted the urge to ruffle his hair and instead stood, grimacing as he slid out from under the duvet and relished in the brisk cold air. It felt even colder on his bare chest. He slipped on a warm but plain pair of slippers, ignoring Jim’s fuzzy ones (with bunny ears - why bunny ears Seb would never know, but Jim had been very specific when he had sent Seb to fetch them).

Walking out of the bedroom, he made his way to the boiler room and kicked it, irritated. He was pleased when it emitted a whine and then hummed, starting to work. Jim wouldn’t come out from underneath the blankets until the room was warm, but at least it was on its way. Seb knew why they stayed in a crappy, anonymous flat, but he still wished they had found a better one with more reliable heating.

His next stop was the kitchen, and he turned on the kettle to heat the water for their hot cocoa. He pulled the marshmallows out of their spot, mixing the drinks once he had sat them down on the counter. Seven marshmallows for Jim, and half a candy cane for Seb, since he liked the peppermint addition to the warm, chocolatey drink. He gave them one last stir before he carried the drinks back to the bedroom.

Jim was still curled up against the pillow, his face turned away from Seb. “Here you go,” Seb informed him. “Seven marshmallows exactly.” The shorter man stretched, and Seb was reminded of panther as he sat up, a scowl on his face. He extended a hand in Seb’s direction, and obediently the gunman placed the mug in his hands. It was habit to watch Jim count the marshmallows, and a small smirk danced about his lips once he had confirmed Seb’s success.

“Sit,” Jim ordered, and Seb sat on the bed, obedient. “When is our next job?”

“Aren’t you supposed to keep track of that?” Seb teased, watching his boss glare at him with a faint smile.

“I will cut you,” Jim threatened, although in his pyjamas he looked about as ferocious as a teddy bear. Although that was certainly not something Seb was going to tell him. There was something soft about Jim drinking hot cocoa in bed, something that reminded Seb of times long ago.

“Nothing until the meeting with the committee member about the documents in two days,” Seb replied instead.

Jim sighed and leaned back, almost spilling the warm drink as he threw an arm dramatically over his eyes. “Boring. Utterly boring. Why is no one committing crimes anymore, Sebby?”

“They are,” Seb said with a chuckle, draining the last of his hot cocoa in one go. He caught Jim’s mug before the consulting criminal could throw it at his head, and placed them both on the night stand. “Just not interesting ones.”

Jim sighed heavily and flopped back on the bed. Seb sat next to him, sprawling out on the bed next to his boss. “It’s Christmas after the job in Turkey next week,” Seb said offhandedly.

“It is,” Jim agreed, humming noncommittally as he stared at the ceiling. Seb allowed the silence to spool out between them, not wanting to spoil it. “I’m not getting you anything,” Jim added.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Seb answered, stifling a yawn. The room had become pleasantly warm, and he was quite sleepy. It had been ages since their last proper lie-in, and he sort of wished he was still asleep.

Jim watched him for a few moments. “Lay down,” he said, bossy as ever, and Seb laid down with his head on the pillow, watching the smaller man skeptically. “I’m tired.” Jim slipped down until he curled back against Seb. Neither were under the duvet, but the room was warm enough for them to be comfortable even with the cold outside. Absently Seb wondered exactly how expensive it was to heat their flat to that level, but he dismissed the thought once Jim snuggled closer to him.

The consulting criminal would always deny it, but he did seem to care for his second in command. “Sleep,” Jim commanded. “You’re thinking, and killing you to make you stop would be too messy.”

“Yes, boss.” Seb smiled, slipped an arm about Jim’s waist, and slept.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MorMor waking up on a rare day off fluff, please? :)

“Seb,” Jim said, rolling onto his side and staring at the man sleeping next to him. “Get up.”

“Hmm?” Seb hummed, burrowing his face in the pillow. They had had a late night and he (apparently) wasn’t ready to get up. But Jim was hungry, and Seb was the one who cooked.

“Get up,” Jim ordered, impatient. He scowled at Seb, who refused to move, and wiggled until his feet were resting against Seb’s side. “Get. Up.”

Silence.

Seb was surprisingly easy to roll off the bed, something Jim took advantage of whenever he could. It was the work of seconds before Seb was lying in a heap on the floor. Jim crawled to the edge of the bed, peering down at the heap. “I want waffles,” he informed him. Seb grunted in acknowledgement, not moving. “Twenty minutes,” Jim threatened. “I’m going to shower.”

“More like an hour, then,” Seb muttered, stretching on the floor. Jim purposefully trod on him on the way out of the bedroom. Such insubordination.

He showered quickly (or quickly for him, anyway) but got distracted re-arranging the toiletries in the bathroom. Someone (he glared briefly at the door because Seb) had messed them up when they had gotten home the night before. Just because he had been bleeding was no good excuse to move their medical supplies out of alphabetical order. Then Jim had to put product in his hair, ensuring that it would look nice for the rest of the day. Not that he particularly planned to do anything, but just in case.

Wandering back into the bedroom completely naked, he walked over to Seb’s wardrobe, opening it and glaring at the contents. Disorganized. Unacceptable. He would make Seb clean it up later. After scowling at the contents, he picked out a pair of Seb’s sweatpants that cinched about the middle and one of his cleaner shirts. It wasn’t sentiment, wanting to wear Seb’s clothes. They were just convenient, was all.

He pulled on pants from his own wardrobe. Then Seb’s clothes. Even with the waist cinched tight, the sweatpants still hung loose on him. Jim liked it. He tugged on the shirt, wandering out of the bedroom and into their kitchen. Seb was standing at the hob, his back to Jim. He looked nice in his pyjamas. All ruffled. It made Jim want to bite him and fuck him and - “Waffles?” Seb asked, turning around and offering him a plate. He didn’t bat an eye at Jim’s wardrobe, instead leaning over and flipping on the coffeemaker.

“You made them wrong,” Jim proclaimed before settling down at the table with his plate.

“Okay,” Seb said, his tone patient, long-suffering. Jim scowled at him, briefly contemplating throwing the fork at him before digging it into the breakfast instead. Seb made his own and then sat across from Jim, pulling out the newspaper and reading the current events.

Jim stretched out his legs, twining his around Seb’s so they were locked. He didn’t know why, he just did. It was nice, being close to Seb. They rarely had such easy mornings where they could sit together and eat a meal. Not that Jim was particularly fond of eating. Still, Jim was able to be vaguely affectionate towards Seb without having to worry about maintaining an image. Sometimes he just wanted to wrap himself around Seb and not let go, but he couldn’t.

Seb shifted slightly in his chair, his legs bumping against Jim’s and startling him out of his thoughts. “So what are we doing today?” he asked, already halfway through his food.

“Nothing,” Jim said with a sigh. “Boring. Utterly boring.”

Seb laughed. “I think I know what we can do.” Jim eyed him, skeptical.

“Don’t be stupid,” he ordered. Seb smiled.

Twenty minutes later, Jim was curled against Seb on the couch, watching a documentary on the history of serial killers. It wasn’t stupid.


	6. When The World Feels Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a MorMor with gender fluid Jim who has days when he just doesn't feel comfortable in his own skin (because his gender is all over the place/doesn't feel right), and Seb trying to help him on a bad day but not really being entirely sure what/if he can do anything to help?

Jim sprawled out on the couch, wearing only a pair of Seb’s pants. Clothes felt too tight. Useless. As suffocating as the society that he had to deal with. His skin prickled, his mind whirled. Everything was far more annoying than it should be. He stared at the ceiling, scowled at it, then closed his eyes, hoping that the next time he opened them, it would be different. That this strange, out-of-sort feeling would go away. He could hear the quiet noise of Seb watching the telly in another room, not wanting to disturb him.

Polite, but unnecessary. Jim didn’t care. Nothing mattered, until this wrongness went away. The noise clicked off, and he heard Seb’s footfalls echo too loudly in the quiet of their flat. “What.” Jim turned his head to look at the other man.

Seb stood there, arms crossed over his chest. Jim looked away, the wrongness threatening to swallow him up. Nothing felt right. His body was wrong, somehow. It was stupid, broken. He didn’t like how the days came and went. Somedays he felt fine, like there was nothing out of the ordinary. It made him doubt the other days, doubt the fact that there were days he never wanted to leave his bed because the wrongness of everything got to be too much and he was afraid it would never leave.

“Is there anything I can do?” Seb asked finally.

“No,” Jim said curtly. He turned away from him, pressing his face to the back of the sofa. Maybe if he stopped breathing, passed out, maybe the wrongness would go away. He waited for the sound of Seb’s footfalls going away, of him giving up, him leaving. Instead Seb came closer, stood and watched him.

“One of those days again?” Seb murmured. Jim grunted. So what if it was. “Move a bit, will you?”

Jim scowled at the sofa, but he shifted, sitting up with his back to the now free section of their couch. He felt the cushions move as Seb sat down and got comfortable. Seb’s large hands were on his shoulders, guiding him down, until his head was resting on Seb’s legs. “This is ludicrous,” he informed the sniper sharply. Sentimental and ridiculous. That he felt more grounded, more relaxed with Seb next to him was inconsequential. He couldn’t allow himself to be weak, to be vulnerable - it was far too dangerous.

He could feel Seb’s muscles shift as he bit back a response. It was interesting, for Jim had never been so close to the other man outside of the bedroom. Intimacy was never something he had felt very comfortable with, but for some reason, at that moment, it felt okay. He turned on his side, curled closer to Seb, buried his face in Seb’s stomach, and breathed. The tension that had been keeping him from relaxing slowly seeped out of his muscles, even as he felt Seb’s hand slide into his hair, something that would have earned a knife to the stomach if it had come from anyone else.

It didn’t make it go away, laying like that, curled against someone that mattered to him. His body was still wrong, the world was still wrong - everything needed to go away. But he could smell Seb, could feel him, and knew that he was there. He would still be there, no matter how wrong the world felt. That little bit of safety, that little bit of security made a far bigger difference than he would have ever anticipated.

Jim closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep.


End file.
